


Words

by theclockiscomplete



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclockiscomplete/pseuds/theclockiscomplete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not alright, and neither is he. She is mute. He can't stop talking. When the Doctor returns for Clara ten days after their goodbye, it's to find evidence of lies, depression, and kidnapping by a species that hunts time travelers, though they only appear briefly and are means to an end. Contains Clara whump. Rated T for themes of depression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fanfiction, so thank you so much for reading! I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters (but now I am starting to wonder if the people who don't put disclaimers do in fact own them...)
> 
> Please rate if you can spare a moment and if you can't, enjoy anyway!
> 
> Set after "Death in Heaven." Contains spoilers.

She didn’t know how she was going to face the kids in three weeks. Clara’s eyes focused on the edge of her bed, gray in the rainy light outside. A part of her was mildly interested that this was the first real thought she’d had in days. She would have to speak then, at school, and no part of her seemed currently able to produce words. She had nothing to say. She took stock of time and memories and was vaguely surprised to find she’d barely moved from the corner of her bed, her back against the corner and her chin on a knee. She’d tried sleep, she remembered—big mistake. And nothing she ate stayed down. She would have to attend to that mess at some point, too. A small part of her was indignant at the thought of breaking down over another loss—two losses, she reminded herself, but still. It seemed ridiculous to the part of her mind that was still coherent. Danny was dead and the Doctor was never coming back for her. So what, right? She had been fine before them and she would be again. An idle finger rubbed back and forth across the bracelet grasping her wrist in the same way as her lover had when she’d wake up some mornings and pad barefoot into the kitchen to find him frying bacon and eggs. He’d always smiled at her, tugged her by her wrist and held her as all of her senses took their time waking up. Her kitchen had looked yellow then. Was it yellow now? The bit of focus she’d regained slipped away and she lost track of time again.  
  
When the Jotsun kidnapped her, she was almost relieved.  
  
**********  
  
The Doctor paced the floor for weeks, relatively speaking. The TARDIS would occasionally beep something encouraging to him, and he was pretty sure she’d landed him back with Jenny and Vastra for a short time—the alternative being that somewhere in the universe there were another Silurian and human talking down their pet Sontaran from melting the doors with acid—but he refused to go outside. While he walked, he talked. Things he should have said. Things he should not have. Realizations. Questions. He couldn’t seem to turn his mind down longer than a few minutes before filling up the silence with his words again. It took him twenty-three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes to cave. Clara had not called. There was no need. She was happy without him. But once he’d made up his mind, the Doctor wasted no time in dwelling on his selfishness. Just a peek in on her. Just to see her again. He eyed the watch looped around one of the levers. No, best to just show up visible so she could yell at him. He missed the yelling. Maybe that’s why he was talking nonstop. He smiled a little as he threw the TARDIS in gear. “Here I come, Clara.”  
  
**********  
  
The Doctor eased the TARDIS door open, expecting a pair of disapproving stares waiting outside. He saw nobody in the gray stripe of light, and so he cautiously poked his head out and looked around. He was in the living room. All the lights were off and a steady rain beat on the window. Were they in bed? Something felt wrong. Something smelled wrong. Stale and cloying, rotten maybe. He stepped out. “Clara?” She should have heard the TARDIS materializing. She should be out here ready to kill him. Tentatively, “PE?” Something crunched under his foot and he looked down at what seemed to be the remains of a wine glass, complete with a dark stain. He bent down and touched it. Dry. Hard. Wrong. All of it wrong. Clara was meticulous, a control freak. A stain—hell, glass!—on the carpet would be unforgivable. A dried stain meant neglect. Neglect meant…what? Depression? Did she and Danny break up? “Clara!” His voice was stifled in the air as he approached her room, passing by and not noticing an array of drooping flowers and unopened cards. He pushed the already-ajar door open wide. The sheets were twisted and there was a smell of sick. No Clara. And, he noticed, no evidence of Danny. But she’d been here recently. Had been sick. Was now gone. He sniffed. Over the smell of sick and flower, there was another, subtler scent. Dull. “Indigo,” he muttered. “Ozone. Something smells like ozone.” His mind whirled through all the possible reasons for the scent until he moved closer to the empty bed and hit a sudden cold spot in the air. His hearts began to pound. The smell of ozone, the cold spot in the air… “Someone used a schism hacker.” He placed a hand over the bed and moved it around until he found another cold spot in the corner. “Clara.” Things began to click into place, and he did not like the final picture. “Jotsun,” he said as though someone were listening. “Time police. Generally homebodies unless they catch wind of a high concentration of time essence, and then they swarm and incarcerate whatever it is that’s causing the imbalance.” He rubbed his forehead. “There’s something more…” his eyes widened. “Reapers,” he breathed. “They let Reapers feed on the prisoners.” He nearly tripped over his feet turning around to race back to the TARDIS. “Take me to Clara.” He had to work to keep from shouting. He threw a switch and the TARDIS began its trip, vworping happily now that her thief was finally doing something with energy.


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clara meets a Reaper and the Doctor shuts it for the first time in days. The two incidents are only vaguely related.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to see why people write fanfiction for others to read. It's uplifting to see so many hits and kudos, and I thank you all. I promise when I am not nearing the end of my senior year in college, I will try for more plot-oriented works. For now, I stay character-driven and a bit angsty as a coping mechanism for this crazy semester. Sorry this chapter was short. It was either that or have a weirdly long one.

The Jotsun were growing frustrated with Clara’s refusal to speak. A helpful AI robot had determined her origin and thus her language, so she understood what was being said to her, but she found she didn’t have the strength to lift her head, let alone try and form words. She suspected the injection they’d shot her with on her bed had something to do with it. She was chained by her wrists to a wall, but there was hardly a need for either precaution. Clara was practically comatose after days of self-neglect and lack of sleep. She barely registered the screech of something coming closer before a dull pain of a kick in her ribs bloomed in her midsection. She coughed involuntarily and tried to breathe, her vision swimming.  
  
“You will tell us why you are covered in time.” The Jotsun loomed close to her face. Its green, matted fur was thick enough to hide that it had no nose from far away, and its eyes were solid black. “Resist, and you will be fed to the Reaper.” Clara didn’t move. She saw a drop of red stain her pajama pants before she registered that she’d been struck again, this time in the face. She wondered what else she’d missed. Her left eye seemed to hurt. Something large moved out of the corner of her eye, and she managed to turn her head for a look. Her blood froze. The creature looked like some sort of shadow dinosaur, with a maw of teeth in place of a face. Its wings were chained to its body and its tail lashed back and forth as it stomped towards her and screeched again. A whimper bubbled and died in her throat. Her thoughts turned briefly to the Doctor. It was times like this he showed up to help, right? She chastised herself for the twitch of hope in her gut. He was on Gallifrey. With his family, his friends. Happy. The Reaper paused as though sniffing through a nose she couldn’t make out, and lunged. She might have lost consciousness—she didn’t really know, but when a shred of self-awareness trickled to the forefront of her mind, someone was in her personal space and a dim reflex caused her to tense. A soft, cool hand brushed her cheek. Lovely, they were trying good cop now, were they?  
  
“Clara.” She nearly smirked. They’d done it. They’d mimicked the only voice that could get her attention right now. They were probably telepathic. She actually felt inclined to look up, but found she had no control over her limbs. She caught a glimpse of a weathered palm as it moved to her chin and tilted her head up. The hope in her gut spasmed as brown eyes met stormy ice, and then she passed out definitively.  
  
The lead Jotsun had no concept of humility. Its cohorts, however, had thrown their weapons to the ground and were showing their empty hands. “You.” The Doctor’s voice was quiet, acid hanging from every word. The lead Jotsun looked straight ahead. The Reaper snored gently, full of time essence from the Doctor’s screwdriver.  
  
“We had no indication the girl was under your protection.” He was in its face in an instant, coat in a whirl.  
  
“Do I look. Like. I. Care.” Wisely, the Jotsun made no reply. “You don’t move,” he commanded, pointing at them each in one gesture. “Not a one of you. I will decide, once my companion is safe, in which of the nine black holes your planet belongs. Until then, you will stay here.” He turned to Clara and unlocked the chains with his sonic. She collapsed into his arms and her lack of weight made him dizzy with fear. “You’re all bony, lass,” he muttered as he shifted her in his arms. His voice wavered “I liked you better roundish. An’ bossy.” He injected a thicker accent into his low, comforting voice as he carried his bleeding and battered Clara to the waiting TARDIS.  
  
She was broken, cut, and dangerously cold, but after several tense minutes the Corpo-nav indicated that her injuries would not be fatal. The drug that rendered her immobile made it impossible for the usual, fastest-working skin healers he had on hand to interact with her system. Her ribs and wrist needed to be wrapped in synth bandages to stimulate bone healing. His hands skimmed the air over her body, hesitant to cause any violation to her person and searching for the safest place to land. He was still speaking to her, telling her stories of his childhood on Gallifrey and his adventures with the friends in his life, and he paused and sighed. “I dunno if you hear me, Clara, but I’ve got to get your clothes off for the bandages to heal your bones.” He waited a moment. “Please don’t hit me when you wake up.” He reached for the bottom of her camisole and paused again. “Actually, you can hit me. At least I’d know you’re okay.” He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead with a single finger. After a moment, he launched into a story about New New York and its ruin, which might or might not have come about as a result of a botched pizza delivery and a defective antigrav bicycle. The Doctor worked as he talked, moving quickly but gently to wrap the gelatinous, sentient fabric around Clara’s ribs and wrist. After, he produced a small bowl of warm water and a rag from the emergency pack on the wall and sat in a chair he pulled up to the side of her bed. He washed the dried blood from her torso—luckily nothing seemed to warrant stitches—and eased her into a soft nightgown before removing her stained shorts. The Doctor pulled a blanket up to her shoulders and began dabbing gently at her face. He’d fallen silent at some point, the hum of the TARDIS providing backdrop to her unaware slumber. He’d worked it out. Danny, for some reason, had not come home. She wouldn’t be wearing the bracelet if he had, and her obvious neglect of herself and her flat bolstered the conclusion. It explained the flowers and things, too. Then again, he couldn’t exactly complain about her self-neglect. He looked like hell himself. Even though he never needed sleep, he required some form of rest that usually came from fixing various things on the TARDIS. And he was hungry. Not dangerously so—he did metabolize a lot slower than humans—but enough to make an obvious impression on his person and mood. He should fix that, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will try to update very soon, but no promises since I have a poetry journal due at midnight that I may or may not have started yet. Stay tuned :)


	3. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clara wakes up and doesn't do the thing the Doctor expects her to, and there is some domestic fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reeeeally just wanted an excuse for them to be in street clothes watching movies together and being my brotp.

When Clara awoke, it was with surprise that her dreams had been decidedly less than awful, maybe even something approaching peaceful. Another surprise when she realized that the familiar room and bed she was in should be things she would never see again. She tried to remember how she got there, but found her memories hazy and blurred, save her final glance into the Doctor’s eyes. The Doctor. The TARDIS. He was back. She tried to sit up but a combination of pressure on her ribs, sudden pain in her torso, and a wave of nausea forced her back down. She took a deep breath and turned her head. She blinked. Twice. The Doctor was curled up in the plush chair next to her like a gangly, underfed cat, head resting on the back of the chair. He wasn’t wearing his coat, but instead a black hooded jumper. He was barefoot, she noted, and somehow the sight made her glad. She watched him for a long while, thinking about their last minutes together, how she’d lied to make it easier for him to leave. Of course she hadn’t planned to. He was just so…lonely, she realized. Though his features were relaxed in sleep, his brow was still creased. She wasn’t certain, but it seemed like going home might have helped ease some of the permanent tension and brooding in his face. Unless…  
  
“So you’re awake.” Nothing but his mouth moved to indicate he’d awoken or spoke. Words tried to form in her head for the first time in…days? Weeks? But they got lost somewhere on the way to her mouth. A long moment passed before the Doctor shifted and rolled his head around to look at her. She tried for a smile, but it flickered into a wince when the movement sent a lance of pain through her left eye. Confused, she raised a hand to the area and paused when her eyes fell on the odd-coloured wrap around her wrist, poking out above the light blue dressing gown. She looked back up at the Doctor. Again, no words. He unfolded himself from the chair and placed a hand on her brow. “You’re finally warm,” he said. “Took you long enough. You were a Clara-shaped ice lolly for absolute ages.” He seemed to realize that something was amiss. “You’re not talking. Or hitting. What’s wrong? You love the talking and the hitting.” He removed his hand from her forehead and scowled down at her. “Your wrist has probably healed by now and I did changed your clothes, so go on—I was expecting it.” Clara raised her not-hurt eyebrow as the Doctor screwed his eyes shut and waited. She lifted a hand and laid it on the side of his face, re-memorizing the pattern of his skin under her palm. He flinched, but didn’t move away. He opened one eye and the expression was so much like his younger self that Clara smiled in spite of the pain. She touched his arm, solid and very real. In her dreams he’d vanished as soon as she reached for him, only to reappear in her waking life as a shadow out of the corner of her eye, an imagined TARDIS sound down the street. Her eyes watered involuntarily. He was finally, properly here. Realization dawned on the Doctor. He took Clara’s hand. “It’s me,” he said, and his voice was low and earnest. “For real. I’m back. And you, dear lass—” for a moment the lines in his face resolved themselves in a rare smile— “will not be getting rid of me anytime soon.”  
  
The Doctor talked enough for the both of them for the next few days, a steady stream of background noise to their joint recovery. The TARDIS hummed happily, pleased with their interactions and keeping them safely in the vortex, away from danger and responsibility. The Doctor did not bring up Clara’s inability to put words together, but the irony of their reversed roles escaped neither of them. Her weight gradually returned, along with the color in her cheeks, but her eyes were often distant and those were the times the Doctor wished most dearly to know what she was thinking. The TARDIS kept a steady supply of fresh food in the fridge and cabinets, and one day the Doctor took advantage of a prominently placed box that seemed to keep turning up behind every door he opened. He ignored it until he went to open a piece of the console and it was there too, staring at him. He signed "Fine," he said out loud and plucked it out. 

Clara was fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist, an open book neglected on her lap, when the Doctor knocked on her door. She hid her hands in her lap and waited. "I'm going to trust you aren't going to throw something at me if I come in," he called from the other side before easing the indigo door open. When he stepped into the room, Clara smiled a real smile-- with teeth. The Doctor was dressed in jeans and a red zip jumper with a hood, holding one enormous bowl of popcorn between his hands. He set it next to Clara and rummaged through the shelf beneath the bed. "Action?" he asked. Clara considered, and shook her head. "Comedy?" His face said please god no and Clara shook her head again. She leaned over to regard the shelf upside down from the top of the bed and pointed before scrambling back up. The Doctor looked up, incredulous. "Seriously?"

Five minutes later, the holo-wall flickered with animated shots of the African plains. Clara could have sworn she caught the Doctor humming along to "The Circle of Life," but when she grinned up at him, he staunchly refused to look at her. They sat shoulder to shoulder and shared the bowl balanced on their laps, and the Doctor did not fail to notice that Clara's habit of rubbing her bracelet had all but ceased entirely. At some point she rested her head on his shoulder and when he surreptitiously checked her expression as Simba frantically nudged at his father, he was surprised to find that she was asleep. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and settled back against the wall with a smile. 

They touched more freely after that. More often than not, Clara would rest her head on his knee and the Doctor would talk until she fell asleep, and more than once she woke from a nightmare to find him watching her from the edge of her bed, a hand on hers. One such night, sweating and crying and shaking, she tugged him down next to her and pressed her body against his until they felt like they were melting into one another. The Doctor rubbed Clara’s forearm with a long thumb as she calmed down against his chest. “We’re not all right, lass,” he whispered into her hair, “but we will be. We’ve got to be.”


	4. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara speaks, The Doctor drops something that was probably important, and the two are chronologically relevant and necessary to achieve resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which all is tidied up and I can't resist a final fluff moment because I have A Problem. This chapter was originally only about 300 words but it seemed rather inconsistent with the length of the others, so I like to think I did you all a favor with the fluff ;)

When Clara finally spoke, the Doctor nearly dropped the piece of machinery he was fiddling with at the console. It had been weeks of rest and comfort and healing, and he was almost sad to know that it would be over soon. He’d heard her come in and sit in the pilot’s chair behind him and had waved at her over his shoulder, straining with the roundish thing in his hands.  
  
“It wasn’t there, then.” Her voice was hoarse and he almost missed it, but after days of hearing only his own baritone pitch, his ears picked up quickly on the drastic change.  
  
“Oh no you don’t, Clara,” he said, turning to face her. His face was stormy but his eyes were kind. “We aren’t talking about me first, you hear? I’ve been talking about me plenty.”  
  
After a long second, Clara looked down and away. The Doctor expected that she’d be another long while before speaking again, and he sighed internally. She would be alright, he told himself. He managed to hide his surprise when she spoke again just a few seconds later. “Danny died…and you left me.” He turned back around, tossing the round thing over his shoulder and kneeling so they were eye to eye. There had been no condemnation in her voice, only fact and that faraway look in her eyes that caused her to look as though she were seeing right through him. But then, she always had.  
  
“Yes,” he said, and hung his head. “I did.”  
  
“Why did you leave, Doctor? You knew. You had to know. And you left me.”  
  
He sighed. “I didn’t know for sure,” he said. “I wanted to believe you and so I did. I let myself be selfish and vain and yes, I left you.” He looked up at her. “I convinced myself you were happy, convinced myself Danny was alive even though I knew you wouldn’t wear the bracelet if he was. I’m sorry, Clara.” He took a long, hard look at her-- looked every bit as hard at her as she had at him that day he'd begged her to see him and recognize him as the friend she knew and trusted. Her face was thin, but the eyes that had rung with a dull sort of gray in their depths were something approaching bright and clear again. Under the palms placed on her knees, he felt muscles loosen in her that he hadn’t realized were tight. Clara stroked his silver hair lightly before resting her cheek on his head.  
  
“I missed you.”  
  
He reached up and wrapped a long-fingered hand around her forearm. “I know. And I missed you, too. So much.”  
  
They stayed in their half-embrace, dry-eyed and truly comfortable for the first time in a long time. The Doctor reflected on the weeks before he'd given in and gone to his friend. Never in his life had he been so glad to have given in first, and he knew deep down he would always. At some point the Doctor realized Clara was asleep, half collapsed on him. Getting out from beneath her without waking her was difficult, but after a series of painfully slow, measured movements, he had her in a position in which he could carry her. He took her to his room, all dim and glowing faintly under its rose galaxy ceiling, and laid her on the huge, circular bed. He started to turn, but his sleeve tugged and he looked down. Still asleep, Clara had the fabric of his jumper clenched in her fist and didn’t seem inclined to let go. He took a moment to consider—shed the jumper and steal back to the TARDIS console, or…? He calculated the easiest ways to maneuver himself, and then crawled gingerly over his sleeping companion to curl up behind her, the arm she was holding draped over her waist. He wiggled his other hand underneath her neck and breathed in her scent. He knew that things weren't back to normal yet. Weeks and months of grief wouldn't just vanish with a simple apology. But they had a start, and he wouldn't let it slip away. His hearts threatened to burst with the relief that his Clara was here again, and safe with him. Where she belonged. When she woke later, he intended to tell her. But when those sleepy brown eyes found their way to his, what came out was, “I can’t feel my arm.” Somehow she understood anyway. And as she laughed and they made their way back to the comfort of their bond, the TARDIS hummed around them both, a cocoon of healing and safety. And on they drifted, towards whatever new adventures awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and keep and eye out for 12 X Clara Christmas fluff fics coming soon. One is already in the works...


End file.
